Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again
by SwordFirebolt95
Summary: Amelia Daee is a ballet dancer who's applied for a job as chorus girl at the re-opened Opera Populaire in Paris, France. She is a decendent of Christine Daee, so a past somehow seems to follow her anywhere she goes. Once she steps foot inside the Opera House, she fells like she's home. But the past still followes her, along with a love that never died.


**Wishing You were Somehow Here Again**

**A/N: I've been listening to a lot of musicals lately and Phantom of the Opera is one of my favorites...so I decided this needed to happen. I own nothing, and the music belongs to Sir. Andrew Lloyd Webber. I've never writen anything that contaned an M rating, but I just can't deny the passion that is The Phantom of the Opera. So, this is my first Phantom Fic, and I hope you like it!**

**This is based on the 2004 movie, I use the information from that. **

Chapter 1. Revisiting the Opera House

**I **slowly push open the doors of the Opera House and timidly step inside. It was dusty and mostly covered in sawdust, but the very sight of the Opera House stole my breath away. It was being restored back to its original status and was under construction. I had applied for the position of chorus girl in the next Opera the new owners, Jaun Leclair and Marcus Vecaunt were producing at the opening of the restored Opera Populaire.

My feet tred lightly on the newly restored marble black and white checkered ground below me, it was just like Grandmother Daee said it would be, it looked just like it had in my dreams. I looked around me and took in the huge staircase that led up into the seating area and boxes for viewing the operas. I slowly acended the golden staircase, adorned with giant golden pillars and statues of greatly posed women and children. I reached out a tenative hand, slightly shaking, and parted the huge red velvet curtains that acted as a doorway to the opera house and the entrance. Workers moved around the stage, drilling or hammering away at large pieces of wood and metal frames. There were plastic covers on all the red velvet seats, new and never used. The golden statues of women and childred repainted and dusted. I took a deep breath and looked up at the grand chandiler, my eyes widening at its glorious essence. It was just as Grandmother Daee had described it to my mother, that I then read from mothers Journals she left me once she passed.

The dimonds sparkling with the lights of the candles, shinning small rainbows and showering bright sparkles all over.

"Excuse me, Miss!" someone shouted towards me, the voice echoed off the majestic walls surrounding me. I turned towards the stage to the worker with his hands on his hips, "Can we help you?" He asked. I cleared my throat, "I'm here to meet with Missuer LeClaire and Missuer Vecaunt?" I called towards him, clutching my bag next to my side. He nodded his head and waved his hand towards me, "I'll fetch them, stay right there." I locked my knees and watched him exit off the stage. It was completely noisey and loud, all sorts of bangs and loud buzzing mixed with shouts and clangs made for an uncomfortable listening experience.

"Look out!" A shout sliced through the noise. I looked up and gasped as a huge 2x4 came hertaling towards me. I was frozen, I couldn't move. "Move!" Another voice shouted, and suddenly I was hurled to the side of the isle, pushed up against the wall. I slammed my eyes shut and waited for the rough wood, but it never came. I heard the crash, but not the crunch of bone. Slowly, I opened my eyes, looked up and was looking into a pair of blue eyes. "Are you alright, Miss?" He asked, breathing hard.

I nodded, unable to speak. While searching his face, I felt mine grow hot, but I couldn't tear my gaze from him. He was very good looking and young too, about my age I would assume. He had a small flurish of sawdust in his lightly colored brown hair.

I blinked several times, to clear the dust that had risen from the carpet when the 2x4 slammed into the ground. "Sorry about that," He said, not moving away form me. He had both his hands flat against the wall on either side of my head, his chest three breaths from mine and his legs apart, holding his stance. I licked my lips and nodded, "Yes, thank-you." I managed to sqweek out. He then moved his arms down and stepped back over the 2x4 and held out a hand. I slowly placed mine into his rough palm, and stepped over the 2x4. Once the dust was brushed off my jeans, I looked back up at the boy who'd saved me. "Thank you, for saving me." I felt a slight blush move up my neck when he winked, "Anytime. Sorry for almost killing you." He whistled loudly, yelled something in French, then two other men came and lifted the huge chunk of wood off the ground and headed back towards scaffalting. "I'm Robbie, Robbie Willson by the way." He said, then stuck out his hand towards me again.

I shook it and smiled, "I'm Amelia Daee." He smirked, "American, huh?" He asked, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his dark blue jeans. I nodded, "Born and bred, straight from New York." He chuckled, "Funny, Daee isn't very American, is it?" I shook my head, "It's Swedish." I answered, "Though, Wilson doesn't sound French." I said back, folding my arms playfully. He nodded, then smirked "You're right, I grew up in Washington,"He stated.

I finally let out a breath, I worried I'd be the only American here. "Then how did you wind up working in Paris?" I asked, he turned towards the stage and I followed. "My mom died when I was really little and my dad was a construction worker, he'd take me out on jobs all the time and I sort of fell inlove with the whole idea of designing buildings so I got down to work and saved up enough money to go to architect school. After graduation, I hear the some Opera House needs remodeling and I jumped on a plane and flew straight here." He stopped when we were in the middle of the stage.

He moved his arm out and motioned me to look out. It was wider and a lot more intracet than I noticed. "It's beautiful." I sighed, he smiled again. "Thanks." He said, then he lead me farther back into the dressing rooms and living areas for the actors. "All this was scortched and almost impossible to fix." He lead me to stairs that led all the way up to the balchoney, over looking the dressing rooms below. "Scorched? From what?" I asked. Grandmother Daee told my mother there was a disaster in the opera house when her Grandmother Christine performed in but I didn't know it was a fire.

"Don't you know the story?" He asked, sitting down and scratching his ink black hair. I sat across from him, shaking my head. "What story? The one about the Opera ghost?" Erik nodded, then shushed me. "What?" I asked, confused. "People around here, don't like to talk about it."

I leaned closer, "Why not?"

He opened his mouth, closed it then looked around him, then back to me. "In 1870, when the Opera House was up and alive, and the Phantom had taken a girl into his dungeon's below, and kept her as his lover and prisoner. He made her sing day in and day out, never letting her rest." This was all very new to me. When I asked about the Opera Ghost mother would shush me, and point to Grandmother Daee, as if the mention of his name would upset her. When Grandmother Daee's Grandmother was younger, she danced in the Opera Populaire, but left when the disaster happened and married Great-Great-Grandfather Raoul, but she never spoke of an Opera Ghost, I found that in one of her journals. She called him 'The Angel of Music'. I never asked again, after I confronted Grandmother Daee that I'd read about him in her Grandmother's journal. She was very cross with me, for rumaging around in the past and brining up bad memories. "The past died along with Grandmother Christine, Amelia." She would tell me.

She paled and started to cry. Her weathered old face erupting into anger and loss, she yelled at me to never speak of him again. I was only seven, and I never brought it up again, she died three weeks later.

"What happened next?" I asked, my heart racing slightly, almost like I already kenw the ending of the story. "Her fiancee found her and killed the Phantom, then rescued her and they never heard from him again." He said simply. I didn't understand. "Well, that wasn't so bad. Why won't people talk about it?" I asked, he curled a finger towards me, and I leaned closer, "Because, some claim he isn't really dead. That his spirit still lingers in the Opera House, and they never discovered the dungeons he hid her in. It's all very spooky if you ask me." He said, then stood up. I looked at him, "Robbie, why was he feard?" Robbie swollowed, "He was a murderer. He killed innocents if they stood in his way, but the worst was his face. They used to say, it was as if the Devil himself cursed the boy to live with sin scaring his face. He was a monster, and he died as such." He finished, looking slightly pale. I gulped, then looked down. Robbie followed my gaze and chuckled. "I think the Missuers are searching for you." He said, I looked down and saw the same construction man leading two very well dressed gentelmen onto the stage.

I stood and thanked Robbie for the story, "I'll be seeing you around," He winked. I waved and headed down the stairs and towards the men. "There she is Sir's, just like I said." The worker then left and the two men turned to me. I couldn't tell who was who, they both had black suits with red ties and greying hair. The first, with a slim mustache stepped forward, grasped my hand, bowed and kissed my knuckles. "Good evening Madam, I trust the Opera house is to your liking?" He asked, I nodded, "It looks incredible, I can't wait to see it when it's finished." He smiled, I liked his smile. It was warm.

"I am Missuer Jaun LeClaire," He smiled and waved to the man at his side, "And this is my partner in business, Marcus Vecaunt! Welcome to the Opera Populaire!" He smiled and clapped his gloved hands togther. "You must be Miss Daee?" Missuer Vecaunt asked, his grey hair and mustache thick and wavy. I nodded and curtsied. "I am the dancer who applied last fall." I smiled at them sweetly. "That's very good of you, and I'm glad we've accepted!" Missuer LeClaire exclaimed, "Did you say Daee? No relation to Chistine Daee, I trust?" Missuer Vecaunt asked.

My heart sunk, "Why yes, she was my Great-Great Grandmother. She was a dancer and singer here, was she not?" I asked, my mouth dry. Missuer LeClaire smiled, not seeming struck by the news. But Missuer Vecaunt was no longer smiling, "She was a legend, dear girl. And the topic of much gossip and story telling when I was a young boy. But, the past is the past!" He shook off the grim look he had and smiled widely. "Now, the production we want to open with is Don Juan Triumphant." I gasped, "Wasn't that the very last Opera performed here before it's closing?" I asked, Missuer LeClaire nodded, very enthusicastically. "Why yes! It's the perfect thing to open with! Like the beginging of a new story!" I smiled, "It sounds wonderful." Missuer LeClaire nodded again, "Yes! We hope to open in two weeks time! All we need now is our singer Madam Groutus, she's traveling all the way here from Italy! She's the great-great-grandchild of La Caulatta, the famous singer of times gone very far past." I nodded, I'd heard that name before.

"In the mean time, I will have our nephew Robert show you to the living quarters." Missuer LeClaire said warmly, "Your rehersals will start at 9 o'clock sharp. Miss Megra will be your teacher, she's sturn but means quite well." Missuer Vecaunt reasured me. "Robert! Come show Miss Daee to the living quarters!" Missuer LeClaire shouted, and before I had time to gasp, Robbie walked towards us. "Miss Daee, this is our nephew Robert Wilson!" Robbie winked at me, and I felt blind-sided.

"Right this way, Miss Daee." Robbie said, offering his arm. I narrowed my eyes and kept my hands to myself. Once we were out of his uncles hearing range, I turned on Robbie, "Why didn't you tell me your uncles ran the Opera Populaire?!" I half shouted, half acused. Robbie sighed, "Because I didn't want you to think I was stuck up." He smiled, I rolled my eyes. "But wait, your last name is Wilson." I said, cocking an eyebrow. "Yeah, when my mother died I took her last name. My dad's last name is Leclaire, but how dumb does Robert LeClaire sound?" He asked, his face pursed.

I snorted softly, "Okay, it does sound a little silly." He nodded, "I agree."

We walked back past the staircases that led to the balcony we'd been on earlier, and into a dressing room. "Miss Daee, might I present to you, the master bedroom of the one and only Christine Daee herself." Robbie pushed open the large wooden door, and turned on the light. I gasped, it was beautiful! A large bed against the west wall, a large vanity with a mirror along the windows edge, a closet fit for a Queen and a large mirror that started on the floor and reached the celing. The wallpaper had been removed and replaced with a soft cream color, a sparkling chandelier hung in the center of the room. Candlebra adorned the walls and large paintings of sunsets and stary nights covered the walls.

"Oh Robbie, it's so lovely." I sighed, touching the bright red velvet lounge chair that sat in a corner. "I restored it just last week," He said proudly. I looked at him, "But really, isn't this too much for a chorus girl?" I asked. He shook his head, "It's the only room we've got left with a bed. The rest of the rooms are rented out to the dancers, actors and musicians who stay overnight." He explained. I set my bag down on the red floral bed and kicked off my shoes. Robbie bid me farewell, muttering something about a lightboard malfunction and left. I looked around the room some more, wondering what Christine would have done in here. It was just a dressing room in 1870, but the ombiance was the same. I felt like she was still here, in the walls and the floorbords below. Lying back onto the mulitple pillows that covered the headbord, I felt the jet-lag finally catch up with me, tugging my eyelids down. I yawned and curled up on the soft bedspread. I felt sleep wrap around me, and slowly take me into his welcome arms.

_"Night time...sharpens, hightens each sensation..."_

_ "Darkness stirs, and wakes imagination..."_

_ "Silently the senses, abandon their defences..."_

A deep voice sung in the empty darkness of my dream. The sound was warm like sunlight, but rough like the waves of an untameable sea. It washed over me, causing shivers to run down my spine and smolder in my stomach, causing my heart to race. I could feel the pull of the music on my body, urging me forward into blacker darkness, the echos of a violin moving my feet forward one step at a time. It wasn't until a piano riff brushed my face, that I could hear my breathing. Fast and low.

I was chasing music in the darkness, and was craving something alien to me, something my body wanted, but my mind didn't know how to give.

_"Open up your mind...let your fantasies unwind..."_

_ "In this darkness that you know, you cannot fight..."_

_ "The darkness of the music of the night!"_

Through clentched teeth, a gasp tore out of my throat, and echoed off the stone walls around me. A small candle, held in my hand, lit the way down the dark and damp walkway, towards the music. My knees shook, while shivers ran down my body, making it hard to see and breath. I wanted more of the music, more heat in my stomach, I wanted something...but I couldn't figure out what my body craved. I felt desperate to find something, anything to calm the creatcher in my stomach, as it cried for release I was too innocent to handle. I didn't understand how to help it, how to set it free.

The piano started to fade, and the violin ceased its playing. "Wait!" I called forward, the shivers dying out and the heat relaxing. Part of me was greatful the haze was lifted, but the rest of me was shaking with want of more. _I needed more._ I was thirsting for it, my mouth dried as I walked faster, willing my feet to take me towards the music. "Pleas, don't stop playing!" I shouted. "My angel! Help me!" I called forward, my heart aching. "_Mon Ange! __s'il vous plaît ne vous arrêtez pas mon ange!"* _I shouted into the darkness.

_"Christine..."_

I screamed as I sat up, my body shaking with hunger. Not for food or water, but a carnal need that I could not satisfy. I covered my mouth quickly with my hands, stoping the sound as soon as it came. I waited in the darkness of my room for someone to come. When the door didn't burst open, I slowly removed my hands and tried to slow my breathing. "French," I gasped, "I spoke french." I was agaust, I can't speak french. I never learned how. What was I shouting?

_My Angel._

What in the name of God could that mean? Then I remembered the first part of my dream, the shviers I'd recived. I closed my eyes, trying to remember the heat I'd felt. I knew it wasn't right to have these sensations, but...I felt like I understood them, like I'd had them long before. It almost didn't feel like a dream...but a memory.

But...a memory that did not feel like my own.

** A/N: What did you think? Was it too much? Confused? Good! This is chapter one, and I promise to touch more on the dream later on. To help clear things up, Amelia is the Great-Great-Great-Granddaughter of Christine Daee, the singer Populaire who once performed on that very stage. The two new owners bought the opera house from a man desperate to be rid of the burden, and decided to reopen it. Robert Wilson is indeed their nephew, which would make Missuer LeClaire his father's brother. Missuer Vecaunt had family who once owned the Opera House, which would explain his mentioning of Christine. Robert does represent Roul in this story, and eventually we get to meet the boy who represents Erik.**

**Amelia is about 19 years old in this story, Robert is 21 and Erik will be 25. **

*****s'il vous plaît ne vous arrêtez pas mon ange is translated to "Please my angel don't stop


End file.
